


Perfect Weather

by kuchi



Series: Heartlines [5]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Anthology, Drabbles, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/pseuds/kuchi
Summary: Snapshots, snippets and companion pieces, more or less relating to Heartlines.





	1. Confession

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be a collection to dump anything Heartlines-related I write from here on out!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things considered, Sokka would say he’s a pretty shrewd guy. Sure, he might not be the most perceptive person in the world when it comes to people’s feelings – his first kiss with Suki comes to mind - but he’s had a lot of life lived, since then. He would know, for example, if something weird was going on in their little Team Avatar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with a silly 5+1 fic written for zutaraang week over on tumblr! 
> 
> Day 1 prompt, 'confession' i.e. Sokka confesses he doesn't know wtf is going on. set a few months after the main fic :)

**1.**

All things considered, Sokka would say he’s a pretty shrewd guy. Sure, he might not be the most perceptive person in the world when it comes to people’s feelings – his first kiss with Suki comes to mind - but he’s had a lot of life lived since then. He would know, for example, if something weird was going on in their little Team Avatar.

“I think Kuei is actually losing it,” Toph remarks, once Sokka finishes recounting today’s paper to her. Toph is practically the United Republic Council’s unofficial sixth member, with the amount of time she spends here after her shift here whenever Sokka is present, sharing noodles and news - owing to the terrible mush they serve at the police station canteen, according to her.

“Tell me about it. I know he doesn’t have the best track record with this stuff, but I think twelve zeppelins full of bodyguards is a little excessive for a routine national tour.”

Toph harrumphs, crossing her legs and resting her feet over the table in front of them, digging her chopsticks into her noodles. Sokka winces at what the other council members would think if they knew the furniture was being used this way. After a pause, she nods approvingly, referring to the other headline today, “It’s pretty cool what they’re doing with healing in the Northern Water Tribe, though.”

“I guess.” Sokka cringes a little, even though he agrees. He doesn’t know if he’d let anyone mess around inside his veins for _any reason. _Even his own sister. Even if it was going to save his life. “I’m just hoping I never get injured enough to need a _bloodbending_ surgery.” He shudders.

Toph makes a tutting sound. “Don’t be such a baby. It’s pretty amazing if you think about it. I’m totally asking Katara if she can help me repel mosquitoes like that.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow, though his pride is a little bruised at the comment. “Uh, but that would be _after_ it bit you, wouldn’t it?”

Toph pauses mid-bite. “Oh yeah." She shrugs, "Well, whatever. Where is she, anyway? She said she’d meet us here at the council when she finished teaching today. She’s been working overtime since her honeymoon.”

Sokka nods around a bite of his seaweed rolls, “I wonder what Aang’s still doing in the Fire Nation, too. He went back to the capital with Zuko after we left, right?”

Toph snickers. “I could guess what.”

Sokka continues, unperturbed. “Those jerks restarting their _jerkbending_ training again?”

Toph cackles again, actually slapping the table this time. “Hah! Good one.”

Weird. Sokka doesn’t think it was _that_ funny, but he’ll take it.

**2.**

Later that evening, they join Katara in her and Aang’s apartment, since she ended up working late. Back on the topic of their recent trip to Ember Island, Sokka waggles his eyebrows at her. “All that time spent in the Fire Nation _can’t_ be good for him. You’d better make sure the Fire Lord isn’t trying to steal your husband, Katara. You know what the rumours are in certain parts of the city.”

Across from him, Katara gives him a withering stare. When Sokka whips his head around to Toph, her hand is pressed over her mouth in giggles.

Toph digs her elbow into him. “Way to be subtle about the new development.”

Sokka doesn’t get it. “What development?”

Both of them actually laugh at his comment, Katara’s skittering into an uncharacteristically high pitch. Sokka finds_ this_ development worrying. It’s as if they’re having a secret conversation, Katara making amused, furtive glances at Toph, who simply stretches with a cocky languidness, and puts an arm around each of them, like she knows the answers to something very important.

Toph coughs. “Oh, nothing.”

“You really don’t know?” Katara seems flustered despite her laughter.

Toph is whistling, an irritating tune that makes Sokka bristle.

“Hey!” Sokka jumps in, defensively. The more amused the two of them get, the more he panics. He laughs lightly, mimicking them. “I mean - _yeah_. I totally know what you guys are talking about. _Of course_ I know.”

**3.**

Needless to say, Sokka is on high alert for any odd behaviour the next time they’re all together again. Is this development something to do with Aang? Is he doing some top-secret mission that involves Zuko in the Fire Nation? Maybe it’s something that happened when the three of them were in the Earth Kingdom?

Well, they’re in the Earth Kingdom again, so maybe something will give. Sokka’s planning the rooms for the Liberation Day ceremony in Ba Sing Se. They get invited every year, being key players on the city’s side in the war and all. It’s not often that they _all_ get to be in the same place at the same time so Sokka takes it upon himself to book them into the same hotel. A few late-night gatherings after the festivities sounds about perfect.

A nice apartment suite at the top of the Royal Earth Hotel does the trick (The Earth King’s favour for the Avatar, of course). Katara and Aang get the big room, on account of being recently married. Toph - never a fan of Ba Sing Se - just scoffs and says she doesn’t care as long as there aren’t too many rules, so Sokka gives her the one farthest from the door, with a nice balcony so she doesn’t feel too stifled. Sokka’s happy to take the second nicest room with Suki.

He only learns at the very last minute, when they’re heading home after the first day, that Zuko has ditched his royally uptight entourage and will be staying with them too.

“But we’re all in one apartment,” Sokka frowns. He doesn’t want the poor guy to get left out.

“I think it’ll be alright, Sokka,” Zuko says. Oddly, he glances quickly at Katara on Sokka’s other side for some kind of assurance before looking back at Sokka again.

Sokka puts his chin in his hand, thinking. It’s safe to say that it’s late enough at night they can’t exactly go knocking for the Earth King and ask for a bigger suite. “Wait! We’ll get Toph to earthbend another bed! Don’t worry, Mr Fire Lord, we’ll find you somewhere.” He puts a friendly arm around Zuko.

“I – uh – actually I can -” Zuko, for some reason, looks deeply uncomfortable.

Toph interrupts, utterly gleeful. “Well, with _recent developments,_” she emphasises, clearly aiming her words at Sokka, “this apartment’s just the perfect size!”

Sokka laughs, trying not to sound alarmed. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” _Everyone_ is looking at him; Zuko with his hand over his face, Katara, Toph and even Suki wearing matching looks of mischief.

He wishes Aang was here and not entertaining whatever big Earth Kingdom officials there were back at the festival. That kid would definitely have his back, and tell him what’s going on.

“Sokka,” Katara says, trying to sound firm, but Sokka can’t help but scowl at the trace of amusement he detects in her voice. “It’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about it.”

**4.**

It’s almost midnight and Aang still isn’t back. Sokka sits in the middle of his bedroom, racking his brain. Toph and Suki are hanging out in the common area, nursing dizzy heads and tea (there was _more_ than enough alcohol back at the festival) but he needs to be away from the chatter. He needs to think. What could possibly be going on that they all think it’s so funny to hide from him? Zuko had _almost_ told him back there.

That’s it! He’ll just ask Zuko straight. Maybe take him out to the balcony, under the pretence of having a hearty catch-up, man to man, over the ongoing fireworks.

Sokka marches to his destination, knowing he heard Zuko’s voice in the kitchen earlier. He swings the door of the kitchen open, “Zuko, I thought you might – Katara?!”

Zuko _is_ there. And so is his sister. And Katara’s arms are around Zuko’s neck, both of their cold teas forgotten on the counter. For a split second Sokka thinks he might just have caught them in the middle of a deep conversation. But no – he’d be fooling himself, it’s as clear as day. Zuko’s hands are wrapped around her waist, and his hair looks recently loosened from its style, and his expression is _soft._ Katara’s hair is messy from where she was – and Sokka feels faint – _pressed against the wall_. Neither of them heard him, clearly. He looks down into his own cup in his hand to check it isn’t cactus juice.

“I thought… you…might like to come out for the fireworks,” he squeaks. And promptly leaves.

His mind is reeling. Suki or maybe Toph says something to him as he takes a seat in the common room, but Sokka doesn’t hear it. He’s going through a hundred different thoughts with every passing second. He swallows. What’s he going to say to her? _I want you to be happy? You know if something happened between you, I’d have to take your side. But do you really think it’s fair to…?_

“Sokka –?”

_But you just got married and…_

“Sokka!”

Sokka almost jumps off his seat. He turns. Oh, crap. It’s Aang. He’s back.

“What’s up? Are you alright?” Aang’s eyes widen, taking in his frazzled state.

Crap, crap, crap. What should he do. “Um,” Sokka mumbles. “Katara – Zuko – kitchen?”

Aang’s brows furrow minutely at his stuttering, but he clasps Sokka’s shoulder and says, “Awesome,” heading in that direction.

Suki and Toph are watching him intently. Is this what –? Is _this_ what they were –? What is _wrong_ with all of them? Aang returns a moment later with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. Calm as a summer breeze.

“Did you - are they – are you –” Sokka says, feeling sweat beading on his forehead.

Aang’s about to open his mouth and answer (oh _no_) when his expression changes and Sokka whips his head around just to catch Suki making a _no_ motion at Aang, waving her hand across her neck. Sokka’s head is a jumble.

“What are they up to in there?” he squeaks, changing tack.

Aang laughs evasively, a hand scratching the back of his neck. “Oh, you know. Talking.”

“Mhm,” Sokka says. Next to him, Suki clasps his arm and gives it a squeeze. Good. He needs that.

**5.**

Sokka’s feeling a _little_ calmer the next day. Mostly, he’s tried to put it out of his mind and enjoy the festivities. But when they’re all seated together in the vast courtyard in Ba Sing Se’s palace, and Aang gets up to give an opening speech, he feels the guilt weigh in the pit of his stomach.

“Some of you may be aware I spent weeks this summer in Daoshu after the record-breaking earthquake. Witnessing the resilience of the Earth Kingdom’s people, over and over again…”

Poor kid. Always so earnest. Sokka zones back when Aang is finishing up, once he manages to get his worry under control.

“…in this great country, of both happiness and hardship. It’s been a crazy year, full of things both amazing and terrible. I want to hand over this ceremony to the mayor on one particular note. I’ve learnt so much through the years since the War and this year, in Daoshu. The thing about disaster is you never know when it’ll hit, even when you’ve been safe and protected for so long. We can’t control the strike of tragedy, but we can control what note we want it to leave us on.

"That’s why there’s nothing more crucial than knowing what’s important – the people we love. Write to your mom and dad and tell them you miss them. Visit your grandparents, your grandkids. Tell your kids how proud you are. Hug your friends!” The crowd raises its voice in a string of whoops.

Aang leaves behind his solemn tone and fully grins right at their group, in the midst of the crowd. “And you_ better_ tell that particular person exactly how much they mean to you.” An even bigger cheer shoots through the audience. Sokka feels Suki take a heartfelt sigh next to him at those words. He turns to her, curious. Her eyes have been glittering with feeling through the whole speech, but the twist of her lip means she’s thinking of something more specific than that. “Isn’t it so great that it all worked out?”

Sokka would scream, if he wasn’t in the middle of a captive audience. _What?_

He takes advantage of the ensuing applause to lean behind Suki and look at his row of friends. A few people are glancing at Katara; they’re probably thinking about their recent wedding. But _Katara_ is only looking at Zuko, _beaming_ at him, her hands clutching his in his lap, and Zuko is absolutely, completely, without a doubt blushing. Even Toph can’t help a small smirk, patting Zuko’s shoulder on his other side.

Again, _what?_

“Psst. Suki.”

She cranes her head towards him to hear him over the crowd. “Yes?”

“Listen…" He takes a deep breath, "I act like I know what’s going on – with Zuko? And Aang? Katara? The three of them? But I’m not sure I have any clue at all.”

Boy, does it pain him to admit it.

Suki draws her eyebrows together in deep consideration, and then raises them all too suddenly, in understanding. “Sokka…” she starts, gently, trying not to laugh. “You_ really_ haven’t realised, have you?”

**+1.**

He would _not_ have guessed in a million years. Nope. Never. What a world, huh?

“When were you gonna tell me?”

Katara’s patting his back in sympathy. It’s nicer than the first five minutes she spent just laughing. “Toph thought it would be funny once… and your reaction was so hilarious, we just kept going with it.”

Sokka scratches his head, still trying to put it all together. “Wait – how long?”

Katara stretches her arms out in front of her. They’re sitting together far from the rest of the party, snatches of music and murmurs still audible in the night air. “Since we were in Daoshu.”

“At least I got _that_ part right.”

He has a thousand questions running through his head - only some of them he _actually_ wants to know the answer to – but only one surfaces. “Are you, you know, happy?”

Katara sits up straight, nodding, like she has to prove something to him. She doesn’t, of course, but it makes Sokka’s mood lift. Like, a lot.

“_Yes._ Oh, you don’t even know.”

“And Aang?”

Katara shifts into an affectionate smile. “Honestly, I think he’s been in love with Zuko longer than I have.”

Woah. That_ is_ very strange to hear. And hearing her talk so nonchalantly about her _husband_ and the Fire Lord is different to – well, maybe his entire worldview. But he’ll get over it.

“You know,” Sokka says, once he’s spent a few minutes digesting, “I don’t know if it’s him or Zuko who lucked out on this one, then.”

“It’s me,” Katara says before he even finishes his sentence, a breathless grin on her face. “I’m the one who lucked out.”

That’s when Sokka knows he won’t have to worry. And it maybe takes the edge off the humiliation he’s endured. Still, the sting remains.

“Katara?”

“Yeah?”

“You _have_ to help me get back at Toph.”


	2. Safekeeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some experiences are better left concealed in myth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little thing for zutaraang week day 3 prompt 'myth/mythology'. I feel like this is less related to the main fic, but I can see it take place soon after the end, when they are in the fire nation. also tried a slightly fancier prose than my usual style, I think?

Aang traces his fingers along the edge of the mask. "_Woah._" His eyes are wide and Zuko notes, not for the first time, that they are deceptively young.

"This is it, isn't it?" He breathes new life onto the old relic, fingers rising across the blinding white grin – grimace – to the jutting brow. The wood fashioned into exaggerated features is splintered, but the memory suddenly, startlingly clear.

Zuko nods, arms crossed at the edge of the cavernous room. It's too cold in here - appropriate for a museum, a mausoleum. Exactly the place where that mask belongs now. Somewhere in the years, in the scraps of recollections of that time, he only managed to associate that thing with humiliation. Scavenging, petty justice, petty revenge. The most alone he's ever been.

His uncle's words ring like they're stamped across the peeling paint on its forehead. _Who are you, and what do you want?_

Aang continues his inspection, and Zuko wishes he would stop touching the thing, expression awestricken. It's a dime a dozen theatre mask, for goodness' sake.

"You _rescued_ me." His voice too full and overflowing with wonder, just like his eyes, like his heart. He takes one glance back towards Zuko. "I mean, you were _terrifying_, but still. You remember, right?"

_Do you think we could have been friends, too?_

"Of course I remember." _Of course I remember. Of course I remember, you idiot._ Who looks the person hunting them down in the face and says _that_? Aang is still looking at him now, still looking through him now.

Zuko returns the stunned, stunning smile.

Aang being Aang, he has to ruin the moment. A flighty half-shrug. "You did also put your broadswords to my neck."

"You did _what?_" Katara's head snaps up from where she has been observing the glass-encased strategic maps in the centre of the room. Those relics can definitely stay relics.

In a swift glide of steps, she's next to him (sometimes she acts like him, and he like her, and Zuko thinks untangling it would be like trying to unpick his heartstrings). Katara's hands on the mask lack the intimate knowledge, but not the delicacy, the kind he still can't quite tell himself he deserves.

"Don't worry," Aang says, looking at him over her shoulder. "We got out. Zuko couldn't beat me."

Katara sniggers. "Couldn't beat a twelve-year-old?"

Zuko gives her his most searing glare before turning to Aang. "...back then. I couldn't have beaten you _back then."_

"Whatever you say, Your Fieryness."

Katara interrupts them, and turns to gaze from one to the other, eyes shining pale in the light of the sconces. "Do you know about the legend of the Blue Spirit?"

Zuko frowns. There isn't a legend: that was the point. Unless you counted the hit on him the Fire Nation put out; an unknown, a dangerous criminal aiding the Avatar. But Katara knows all that, and her simmering smile says she knows quite a bit more.

Aang walks over to Zuko and slides one gangly arm over his shoulders to listen, deliberately close and deliberately loose. "I don't."

"Well, there's a few versions of the story…" Zuko bites back a smile; her teacher voice comes so easily these days. "According to some of the kids I've met in the bending schools, it's a _benevolent_ spirit. One that's the embodiment of justice, that came to right even the smallest wrongs, but who was also destined to help end the war. It fled back to its realm the moment its job was done."

Aang tilts his head towards her; nuzzles it in the crook of Zuko's neck. "They're really telling stories like that?"

Katara nods, stepping closer in reply. Zuko's always noticed how they draw each other physically in conversation sometimes, moon to tide. "And of course, there's the version suggesting it was a handsome, brooding master swordsman, a one-track-mind hero that needs no recognition and no reward." She draws out the word _handsome_, exaggerating it only to show how much she means it.

Aang laughs happily at her, "Yeah, you would know all about sexy benevolent spirits, wouldn't you?"

They share between them a look and Katara, a girlish flush, that Zuko can't read, decides he doesn't need to read. His mind is whirling around the way she said _legend_: around how easily and quickly every thread of every event from the end of the War can become stories.

"I think I prefer the first one," Katara decides, the wishful lilt of her voice echoing the hollow room; audible moonlight though they're well underground, and for a moment Zuko believes just that version of events.

Aang sighs, long, surprisingly wistful. "Yeah," he says. "Me too. _Destined to end the war._ I like that."

Katara gives it thought. "Still definitely sexy, though."

"Well, that one's non-negotiable."

Zuko looks at the mask again so he has a good reason to ignore their words. The swirling rage of his youth, the confusion, the anger, the shame that led him to put it on in the first place – all trapped behind it, behind the years that have pummelled those feelings until they are the size of the pin that mends the mask to the wall.

Katara laughs, takes his hand, then takes his waist. She does that a lot. Her arms encircled like an enclosure of calm, the eye of the hurricane of his busy world. The first time Aang had babbled to him about that effect of hers, Zuko, equally drunk and teenaged, hadn't thought he could ever picture Katara's spitfire nature in that way.

She murmurs, "What's your version of those events?"

No one knows except him and Aang and Uncle.

_(Who are you, and what do you want?)_

And Katara, evidently, because Aang's knowledge trickles and pools to her, always. Safekeeping. He could interject and disrupt the path of this conversation, he could object to its fancifulness. But maybe it's better to put on a face, sometimes.

_Who are you?_

"It doesn't matter," he says. "I mean, that's not important anymore, is it? It's a story," he amends, laughingly, when Katara raises sceptical eyebrows at him, a brief comical shadow on her clear features. He basks in the strange newness of their shared, full attention and memorises it for later. "I'm not the Blue Spirit," he says with mischief.

_What do you want?_

"You're Zuko," Katara says, sunny smile. (Stunning smile.) Zuko pulls her closer, chest to chest and cradles the back of Aang's neck with his free hand (a motion that Katara nonetheless beats him to.) He kisses them in turn, Katara first and fond and fierce, then Aang, mellowed in that mutual memory. He decides not to give his truest attempt at a reply, to save his most honest contribution for himself, this time: I think _you_ rescued _me_.


	3. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Zuko," Aang begins. He doesn't know what to say. The stiff hunch of Zuko's shoulders in front of him betrays something worse than his voice does: that he doesn't want Aang to see him. He doesn't want anyone to see him. And that's painful, coming from a guy that's always worn his feelings on his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for zutaraang week day 4, prompt "scars". I always wanted to write on this topic and welp it's zutaraang now

"I shouldn't feel like this."

The words make Aang stop in his tracks. He's halfway across the garden, hands outstretched for Zuko, standing there at the edge of the pond. Aang's mind reels with a thousand emotions, above all, sympathy. The ragged confusion bleeding from Zuko's voice is something he hasn't heard in a long time, maybe not even since before the war, before the comet. Back when they didn't even know each other. Back when they were sworn to be enemies, and Zuko's mind was poisoned daily by the same monstrous presence that has him frozen in grief now.

"Zuko," Aang begins. He doesn't know _what_ to say. The stiff hunch of Zuko's shoulders in front of him betrays something worse than his voice does: that he doesn't want Aang to see him. He doesn't want _anyone _to see him. And that's painful, coming from a guy that's always worn his feelings on his sleeve.

To Aang's utter relief, there isn't going to be a public funeral for Ozai, which is what the council had decided in the morning, despite the rioting from a persistent dissident group. He isn't sure if weeks of meditation could do anything for the nightmares that might resurface from an event like that. But this is not about him.

He had sat at the Fire Lord's right hand in the meeting room, Zuko's nails digging marks into his palm under the table while the ministers around them discussed the decorum surrounding the announcement of the death in captivity of the previous Fire Lord. A surprising number of officials actually _wanted_ some sort of ceremony. It was decided in the end that there would be a burial in the catacombs and an accompanying official notice from the palace. Zuko had spoken as little as possible during the meeting (Aang was counting). His only real input that he wanted to notify his mother in person beforehand, so the announcement was to be delayed.

Iroh is on his way from Ba Sing Se. Azula, to his surprise, didn't want anything to do with it.

And already here, is Zuko, alone in anguish. Watching him now, Aang allows himself to feel something other than pity for Ozai, for the first time in years: anger.

Zuko turns his head up in a sharp movement at the sound of his name. His voice is thick with feeling, enough to make Aang dizzy. "_Why_ do I feel like this?"

The turtleducks continue to swim, unheeding of what's happening in the palace around them.

Aang takes long breaths, like firebending practice, in an attempt to steady himself. He has to be the one keeping a level head here. "You can't choose how you feel, Zuko."

Zuko makes a sound of frustration. "I've spent my whole life making sure I do everything different than he did, the _bastard._ Everything I've done in the Fire Nation is so– And if he just–" he cuts himself off.

Aang swallows and makes his voice as gentle as possible, though the more Zuko talks, the more sick he feels. "Don't be ridiculous."

"What?"

"You can't tell me that he was your only motivation."

Zuko wipes an arm across his eyes. "There's still _so_ much I have to do."

It takes all of Aang's power to just walk up to Zuko's side – and not any further – because he knows what Zuko needs right now is clarity. _Words._

"And what? You needed him to witness it?" Aang says evenly as he can, though he can't help the incredulity that seeps into his tone.

Zuko takes a sharp breath in. He's listening now. When he had defied all his advisors by sparing his father the death sentence in the post-war tribunals, Aang had stood by him with pride. He didn't think there could be a truly bad consequence of that decision. But the bewilderment in Zuko's eyes now reveals something more sinister than Aang has seen in a long time, a shackle to his heritage heavier than the ones Ozai wore for the final part of his life.

It shakes Aang to his core. "You–You've built a new country from the ashes of your father's crimes– and your grandfather's. That's what matters. The present. The future."

Zuko turns to face Aang. "But how could he–" His fists are clenched at his sides, mouth turned in a hard frown intended to prevent something worse. Aang hates the expression, if he can hate anything about Zuko's face. "How could he– just– it's just _one _harsh winter– _all_ those people— He doesn't get to die like this."

Recognition grips Aang like a vice. _This_ feeling he does understand. This is the very thing that's kept in him a dream-like state since the news reached him late last night, and he had left Republic City immediately, the Avatar's presence at the emergency council in his schedule and Zuko in his mind.

Aang grasps Zuko's arm tight, turning to face him directly. "I get it," he whispers. "I understand." Zuko's eyes are full of uncertainty, and Aang finds his own hollow mood reflected in them.

He's twelve again. The Fire Lord looms larger than life, a force of pure hatred, hellbent on destroying any peace in this world. A trail of pointless destruction; people, families, whole villages, left in his wake.

The same man is dead in his cell, from the complications of a common cold. Accepting that is like being knocked out of the air.

Zuko doesn't make any real attempt at holding his gaze, his eyes tired and watery. But he lets Aang press their foreheads together, which means they're on the same page at least. Aang cups the back of Zuko's neck and presses him close. If he could somehow project the depth of his care with that action, he would.

"You don't _have_ to feel happy about this, Zuko. And you definitely don't have to feel _nothing_."

Zuko makes a noise that might have been an attempt at interruption but he stops himself with a heavy breath and a nod. Aang blinks hard and continues, "You can be sad that you didn't get closure. You can be sad because you deserved better. You really, really did." Unthinkingly, he lets his thumb trace over the ridge of Zuko's scar, but Zuko doesn't flinch. "But you can't define who you are and what you do by Ozai."

Aang almost jerks back at the feeling of wet tears dripping against his hands. He's never seen Zuko cry, but he does his best not to let the surprise show on his face, even as his stomach feels like it's careening at the sight. Zuko pulls away from him to wrap him in a proper hug.

After what feels like an eternity, Zuko speaks. Aang can feel the sadness of the smile against his neck. "Thank you. You're pretty wise, you know."

"It's in the job description." That gets a laugh out of Zuko, and Aang's heart glows for that tiniest of reactions.

"Uncle said he would be here in a couple of days."

Aang nods into Zuko's shoulder, "I know." He's still not willing to let go, rubbing circles into Zuko's back as he speaks. "Go be with him, after the announcement. I'll deal with everything else."

Zuko squeezes him in acknowledgement. He whispers his next words like they might disappear if spoken too loudly, "Katara?"

"She's coming as soon as she can," Aang says, longing for the respite of her embrace — longing so much at the mention of her name that he surprises himself. For someone far removed from the Fire Nation and its cruel history, someone that is the antithesis of all this pain. He can't imagine how much worse it is for Zuko. "She'll be here, when I have to go back. We're not leaving you."

The thought of Zuko going to bed alone this week is too much to bear, and he won't have to bear it, even if Avatar duties are dragging him to a different continent in a few hours. For the first time, he's deeply grateful for their arrangement in a way that has nothing at all to do with his own fancies.


	4. Change of Pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm the Fire Lord. I can make it law that no one's allowed to make me dance."
> 
> Katara glances once around the floor before taking a step in, her hands cupped around his neck. She says into his ear, her voice lowered to the volume of a whisper, "Not in this country you can't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to fluff!! for zutaraang week day 6, 'dancing'. Very Heartlines-related.

"You, look, uh," is the first thing Zuko says to her when they meet each other on the floor, his arms dangling at his sides like he's forgotten how to greet a friend. Katara feels a smile pull at her lips before he has even finished the words.

For the record, friend is definitely not the right word anymore. She'll have to give that some thought. There's something frivolous about boyfriend, when one also has a husband.

Tonight is all deja vu, beginning with the presence of the Fire Lord. The decor, the music, and the food of this event are all stunningly reminiscent of Daoshu Province. With the disaster's three month anniversary looming, both of them are guests of honour at this fundraising event organised by the Southeastern Earth Kingdom migrants.

A lot is familiar, but nothing shocks her back to those few months of the summer – the terror, the toil, the ultimate gift – than the startlingly smitten expression on Zuko's face (she lets her heart skip that beat, maybe even relishes it.)

It's been a few weeks since she saw him, and longer still since she has been with him in private, and the stark difference between his dignified presence at a city hall fundraiser and his presence at, well, her honeymoon is enough to make Katara blush upon sight.

Katara bends in a playful curtsey. There were a few speeches and a rousing folk theatre performance earlier, but the night is winding down now. A local group whose name Katara can't quite recall is regaling the room with a pleasant melody over the chatter, classical Earth Kingdom strings fused with a livelier beat, a more recent Republic City invention. They were planning to meet tonight regardless, but Katara is thrilled that her attempts to catch his eye across the large, crowded room were successful.

"And you, Your Highness. Eloquent as ever." She rises with a smirk.

She can see Zuko struggle with the effort to resist rolling his eyes in a highly public place. She gives another half a second's attempt at keeping up the pleasantries before throwing herself into his arms. Zuko returns the hug, both of them holding on long enough that it would probably send some downtown reporter into a frenzy.

"I missed you," she says into his shoulder, taking a long breath in. "There's so much I have to tell you."

"Me too," he says, stepping back with a conspicuous cough and a smile. The words themselves are gratifying in Katara's ears. Nothing reinvigorates her like a good catch up session with Zuko; it's been a busy week, but she can already feel the anticipation building in her chest, of renewing her strength with his presence.

"How's Aang?" Zuko asks. "And Sokka, and Toph?"

Katara takes each question in turn. "Still in the South, both of them. A lot of Avatar duties to keep busy with when the Northern and Southern tribes have their biannual reviews," she says with a deprecating laugh that she knows Zuko will understand. She herself has been spared any diplomatic duties in the gathering of the sister tribes, due to the sheer workload of codifying the new healing practices. She has to catch Zuko up on those – particularly the pilot training courses in medical bloodbending.

Though that particular topic between them might be better reserved for a more private setting. Her face flushes with the thought. It tends to stray pretty quickly from healthcare provision. "I could swear I saw Toph earlier tonight, though I think all the flouncy Earth Kingdom costumes in the play might have scared her away."

Zuko laughs. "I can't say I blame her." Katara scans her eyes around the room for her anyway. She can't spot Toph amongst the few remaining guests, but she notices that most who aren't sitting down are swaying on their feet. The band really is good, and they've read the room well enough to switch to a calmer tune. A serene erhu melody wafts across the hall, the sound undulating past her ears in a way that makes it hard to stay still.

"She told me that you're here until next week?" Katara says, unable to keep the elation from her voice. "Does that mean things are settling down at home?"

"More or less," Zuko says, a middling grimace that tells her that there's more to elaborate on later. "Stable enough that Uncle returned to Ba Sing Se."

Katara hums her acknowledgement. "Well, you definitely look good," – she corrects herself at Zuko's mildy scandalised expression – "I mean, you look like things aren't too stressful in the Fire Nation."

"Right," Zuko says, an endearing look of suspicion crossing his face. "Well, I still have to plan–"

"Tell you what," Katara interrupts him, leaning up to speak into his ear. Under the daze of that mellifluous soundtrack in her ears and Zuko in front of her eyes, an irresistible thought has occurred to her. "Save the conversation for later. You still owe me a dance from the last ceremony."

"I–" Zuko says. "You know I don't really–"

"I seem to recall you did with Aang," Katara cuts in.

"Not of my own will."

"Come on."

Zuko looks like he wants to stomp his foot. "Are you keeping some bizarre score about who can embarrass me the most?" He eyes her with caution, like he thinks the two of them wouldn't be above such games. "And I really wouldn't call that dancing."

Katara pauses, recalling the brief minutes of drunken bobbing she had witnessed during the final ceremony in Daoshu. "No, me neither." She finds that her memory is hazy enough that she can't remember whether she even tried to get Zuko to dance that night. In her defense, she had had bigger things on her mind.

Zuko coughs and tries to extract himself out of their loose embrace, making another valiant attempt to dissuade her, even though they're both swaying on the spot by now. "And anyway, messing around with Aang is one thing. You're– you're such a natural at dancing. I'd look like an idiot in comparison."

Katara cocks an eyebrow at him. "And remind me which one of us was raised in a royal court?"

Zuko grunts, unamused.

Katara continues, "I don't even know how you've managed to avoid dancing all these years, with all the events you must have to go to."

"I'm the Fire Lord. I can make it law that no one's allowed to make me dance."

Katara glances once around the floor before taking a step in, her hands cupped around his neck. She says into his ear, her voice lowered to the volume of a whisper, "Not in this country you can't."

Zuko takes a sharp breath in. It sort of makes Katara forget to breathe herself.

"I'll teach you," she says. "A basic one," she nods her head towards the band playing to the side of the stage, "anything a little on the softer side would go with these steps."

She expects a long suffering sigh – which, she does get, immediately. But after a moment Zuko mutters under his breath, "Okay."

"Great," Katara says triumphantly, lifting her hand to rest it on his shoulder. "Alright, put one arm around me." Zuko simply presses closer the hand already hovering around her back.

He's warm, much warmer than the autumn breeze. "Higher," Katara says with only a little hiccup. She raises her other hand and grasps his in mid air so they're in a starting position. "Good. Now step forward when I step back, and come back into position again."

Zuko does, so quick that she almost sidesteps to get out of his way. Then he attempts it again, with a frown of concentration so severe that she struggles not to burst out laughing.

"You need to slow down," Katara starts to say, and with a trace of guilt, she is laughing. The look of disgruntlement on his face is enough to make her immediately touch his cheek in apology.

Eventually Zuko gets it, and they move back and forth, all of Katara's focus on keeping him at the right pace. The simplicity of the movement, the repetition, lulls her into an easy trance of simply enjoying his presence, until she finds herself circling ever closer, close enough to rest her head against his chest.

The tempo changes.

Katara stands up straight. "Let's try a twirl."

She guides Zuko through the motions, slowed down, narrating them as she does. Zuko is silent, content to learn, and it sends a wave of pleasure up her spine to have his attention so thoroughly, with nothing but her words and actions.

"Remember," she says, after a few attempts, "make it fluid." She turns, pivoting on the grip of his hand seamlessly to demonstrate the movement again. Zuko is still stiff as a board, but there's a precision to his movements now. "It's like sparring." She twirls again, feeling him loosen minutely to aid her.

They fall into step again, and Katara guides him to run through the entire process from the beginning. "Just follow the steps until it's muscle memory." She looks Zuko evenly in the eyes before twirling, "And be aware of your partner." The breeze catches her skirt when she spins out, and Zuko catches her firmly in the bend of his arm when she spins back in. Chill and heat. Katara returns to form a little breathlessly.

"It's like waterbending," Zuko amends, with a small smile. "Of course you're so good at it." The words are almost a whisper. For the first time, Katara feels self-conscious under his gaze. She clears her throat, looking up into his eyes instinctively to help her gain ground.

"And I mean both of you," Zuko says, matching her gaze.

Katara has misstepped, in more ways that one – she finds she can only hold his gaze for a moment longer before she averts her eyes, slipping her hands down from his shoulders and loosely behind his back. They're close enough that she feels him swallow, and she tentatively lets him take her weight, like she had wanted to ten minutes ago. One peek behind his shoulder tells her they're not doing worse than the other pair on the floor right now.

"I watched you," Zuko says, somewhere near her temple. "Back in Daoshu. At-at the wedding." He gives a nervous bark of laughter, "A lot of times, actually. I love watching you guys dance."

Katara's stomach tightens at the plain admission. It's so unlike him, and the waver in his voice lets her know that he's aware of it, too. "And what's your verdict?" she says into his collar.

"Mesmerising," Zuko offers. "It's just–" but he's interrupted by a flash of light in the corner of the room. Katara and Zuko turn their heads towards the distraction in unison.

The presses should have left an hour ago. When Katara furrows her brow and looks up to gauge Zuko's reaction, he's already looking down at her. It's clear from his stunted expression: neither of them know how to react.

Katara cranes her neck to see if she can spot where one of the nosy rats from the Harmony Herald or whatever might be sitting, but decides within moments that it's not worth the effort, and leans her head back onto his collar. Finally, she says, curling her arms closer around him for emphasis,"I think… I think this might be more than they can handle."

"Don't worry about them," Zuko says.

"Really?" Katara's surprised. He's always been irritable about what the rags report - and with very good reason, it had to be admitted. There's a laidback attitude that she and Aang could always afford to have about the press, safe in their relationship. With hindsight, some of those accusations over the years must have been nerve-wracking for Zuko.

"What's the worst rumour they can spread?"

Katara smiles into his shoulder, considering this. He's right. What could they say, that would actually matter anymore? She doesn't hold back the mirth in her voice, mock-whispering, "They might publish that picture, and then the Avatar will find out."

"He'll come after me," Zuko says in a serious deadpan.

"Wouldn't that be a nice change of pace," Katara remarks.

Zuko's laughter rumbles against her ear, a worthwhile reward. Katara closes her eyes and focuses on the music again.

*

Aang squints at the paper stall. If you asked him, he would tell you that the front page of the _Southern Enquirer_ today is distasteful. Well, more so than usual. At least that giant photograph of Katara and Zuko is taking attention away from the dubious text. The vendor leaning against the stall looks bored, and he probably couldn't care less what he's selling. Oh, well. He'll complain about it the minute he sees Hakoda, see if the Chief can scare some sense into the publishers.

For now, he's happy to fall for the distraction.

"Hi!" The vendor startles and stands upright. "Can I get a copy?" Aang gestures towards the paper.

"Sure you–" the kid stops in his tracks, his hand on the top of the stack. He looks at Aang, then back to the cover, and then back to Aang again, his eyes widening like saucers with each turn. Aang exchanges his coins for the paper, an even smile on his face throughout. "Here you go," the kid squeaks.

> _ **DANCING ON THIN ICE?** _
> 
> _REPUBLIC CITY – After their summer together in the wake of the Southern Earth Kingdom's terrible earthquake, it looks like things are shaking up again for this star-crossed pair. With the Avatar all the way here in..._


	5. Entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aang braids and Zuko watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gift for Cruria for the zutaraang valentine event over on tumblr! It fits well enough into the story so I thought I would put it here

Zuko takes a brief glance around the room at the numerous groups of people huddled around the communal fire before shifting closer to Aang. Not surprisingly, there isn’t much to do holed up in the Southern Water Tribe in the middle of winter – at least, for those unused to sub-freezing temperatures – especially when you’re approaching the third evening of festivals and meetings.

Even considering that, Aang seems particularly preoccupied, uncharacteristically sitting in a corner and bothering no one. Not even Momo’s inquisitive purrs on his shoulder are able to distract him. 

Zuko cranes his neck. “What are you doing?” he hisses, not wanting to draw the curiosity of anyone surrounding them. People here are _much_ more relaxed around royalty than anyone ever is back in the Fire Nation, but Zuko still manages to draw his share of attention. On the far side of the great room, through the dancing embers of the fire in the middle, he can see Chief Hakoda and his family in a loose circle. Sokka says something with a sceptical expression, which makes Hakoda throw his head back in laughter, ruffling Katara’s hair next to him. Zuko hides a smile by aiming it at the ground. It’s odd that Aang isn’t sitting with them.

“Braiding,” Aang says, belatedly. He sticks his tongue out in frustration, eyes almost bulging to discern something in his lap in the dim light. His hands are working in sharp, repetitive movements. 

“What is that?” 

In response, Aang presents the palm of his hand, a thick strip of elaborately woven threads in the middle of it. “Hemp fibre,” he mutters, picking up another thread from a pouch next to him, before hanging it between his teeth to measure, a little cross-eyed. “From the Earth Kingdom, I got it from that agricultural village we went to last month.” He twists the stiff threads with quick precision. 

“You’re making a bracelet,” Zuko says. Watching Aang’s technique jogs his memory. “…Like the monks’ lucky bands you told me about.” 

Aang glances up with a grin, brief but dazzling. “Yeah. You remembered.” He hands the item to Zuko for inspection. Zuko takes it carefully, trying not to tangle the loose ends. He holds it up to the firelight. It’s impressive – he can spot several types of knots and twists with no clue of how they could be combined so elegantly. 

“Gran-Gran offered me seal-gut string which is smoother, but I don’t think the monks would have liked that.” 

Zuko laughs and hands it back. “For Katara?” He can guess easily enough from the sheepish way Aang looks at him, not to mention the rapt attention he gives the task. That’s why they aren’t sitting together. 

“Yeah. So it’s not really for luck, I guess, it’s just– a gift.” 

Zuko nods and continues observing Aang braid the threads in silence. 

The scraps of conversation around the circle merge into one hazy murmur as he watches. Zuko relishes the peace and quiet, the opportunity to simply watch. It’s a peculiar thing to observe an Air Nomad tradition, just as it’s peculiar to be invited to the Southern Water Tribe, and to be there willingly in the depth of winter. The strangest parts of his new life as Fire Lord are in the little details, not the big responsibilities. 

Aang scrunches up his eyebrows and curses lowly, undoing a knot he just made. Zuko smirks to himself. When he thinks of Aang in action, it’s the sheer prowess of the Avatar’s fighting skill that crosses his mind; or alternatively, his skill of mediating. He never really gave thought to Aang’s _hobbies_, though watching him now, it seems to entail the same eerie patience that Zuko finds equal parts frustrating and inspiring_._

Zuko thinks he’s the opposite. Uncle would probably say he hasn’t had the privilege to think about mundane arts and crafts in years, but Zuko doesn’t think that’s true – he’s just not that kind of guy.

He remembers he used to like fire-writing when he was a kid, though he was never any good at it. The tsungi horn, too, was something he reluctantly came to enjoy, once he stopped having tantrums over being forced to learn it. 

Anything so frivolous disappeared forever with his banishment. 

Aang’s eyes reflect the low firelight as they flit across the threads.

“How long is it gonna take you?” Zuko asks, if only to distract himself from the sneaking ache that seeps into him, watching Aang in focus. How does someone go through all that he has – all they both have – and still get excited about making _trinkets?_

“Pretty long… I’ve been working on it at almost every gathering this week,” Aang says. He adds meekly, “it’s a complex braid, but I want her to have the prettiest one so…” He laughs nervously, his expression morphing quickly as he thinks of something to change the subject. “Wait – let me show you something – hold this for a minute.” 

Zuko holds on to the bracelet again while Aang digs around in the pouch. It’s ludicrously simple and plain compared to the kind of jewellery he’s grown up around – _everything_ here is. He imagines it tied around Katara’s skinny wrist; how suitable it would be. He imagines tying it around her wrist himself, a thought so abrupt and unjustified that he blames it on all the ceremonial hand-clasping they’ve been doing for the past few weeks – as pioneers of the new, restorative relationship between their homelands. Zuko had promised to see it done before the anniversary of the end of the war, gravely underestimating how many lengthy community discussions and presentations it would take. That’s why he’s here, six months later. He can’t say he minds. 

“This,” Aang says, carefully unspooling another thread, so delicate that Zuko’s eyes can only make out the thin lines when they catch the light of a wayward flame, “I got this from Toph– well, I got her to make it.”

Zuko might have judged prematurely about the plainness. It’s silver – probably pure silver, like the embroidery on the expensive robes worn in court parties. Glinting like sunlight trapped by the ocean. Zuko finds it hard to believe there’s even a trace of impurity in that, marvelling as ever at Toph’s abilities. “That’s gonna be the finishing touch,” Aang says.

Zuko nods approvingly. He wonders idly how Mai would have reacted to something like that. “It’s a really nice gift for your girlfriend.” 

Aang recoils slowly, shaking his head. “What–no. It’s not really for _that_, it’s just a nice thing to do. I mean, it’s special, obviously, but that’s not because we’re dating – I think we are, anyway – but that wouldn’t make sense since I’m making—” he stops short, “Uh.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Aang says, his voice rising an octave. He looks away from Zuko and straightens his posture, staring into the distance as if something foreboding just dawned on him. “Nevermind.” He scratches the back of his head before returning to Zuko with a strained smile. 

Zuko frowns. “Sure, okay. Whatever.” He doesn’t bother to even pretend to know what goes on in Aang’s head. “Do you want to go get something to eat?” 

-

He finds the bracelet amongst his belongings weeks later, identical to the one he had found Aang braiding except for the line of spun gold weaving into each pattern. He’s a few hours away from the dock in the South Pole already. The unostentatious homeliness of the place is already vanishing dismally quickly, and with each minute, the severity and spectacle of the Fire Nation court looms closer. He smiles and puts it on. 


	6. Capture the Avatar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aang is compelled to watch his captors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written for a drabble event over on Tumblr (@zutaraangtastic), for an anon that asked for "capture the avatar" roleplay. slightly spicy :-)

"I was joking," Aang says, voice high and hoarse, all the joke wrung out of it. "I wasn't being serious." Zuko gives a sharp tug on the rope around his wrists, a silky length extricated from one of his robes. ”Hey!” Aang glares resolutely, the column of the balcony pressing uncomfortably against his arms, his back, and bound wrists; blunt and cold and giving him no edge. 

"This looks pretty serious to me," Zuko says, voice low with mock gravity as he draws the flat of his palm down Aang's chest to his straining trousers. Aang levels his eyes to Zuko's, feigning ease against their predatory gaze, unwilling to give them the upper hand. Zuko is touching him with more restraint than Aang could have ever imagined from him. He wishes he wouldn’t. 

Katara's voice is sticky sweet when she speaks. "You think playing innocent will get you out of this, Avatar?" The curve of her lip, stained fire lily red, twitches just shy of laughter. Aang wants to kiss it and then some. But she doesn't break character.

The two of them make a tantalising, vicious pair between them. 

So they've captured the Avatar. Now what? As if reading his mind, Katara rises from her seat on the bed and slips behind Zuko, winding her slender arms down his waist, before carefully circling his forearms and his hands and pulling them off Aang. Aang complains audibly – more audibly than he usually would, really – at the loss, earning a sharp look from Katara.

"Come on," she says, leaning up to Zuko, her mouth a hair’s breadth from his ear. Aang watches Zuko's eyes flutter at her call - always, at her beck and call. "You've done well to bring him to me. Now, we can't let him languish here without a little torment? What do you think is a suitable punishment for the dangerous Avatar?" 

She doesn't wait for Zuko to answer the question. (Aang would make him answer. He_ would _\- except he can't open his mouth to speak a word against the mesmerising view in front of him.) Katara draws them face to face, sparing only a sly smile for Aang before they envelop each other in an ardent kiss. Zuko knows what to do from here. His fingers dip to the back of her waist; hers in his hair. Hands tug and grip and squeeze with abandon, but not Aang's hands. They're stuck uselessly behind his back.

He takes a harsh breath in. A smattering of stars is visible above where they sway between Zuko’s bedroom and the balcony, winking in the misty night. _ They’re _ mocking him too. 

Katara and Zuko all but attack each other. Zuko is decisive. Aang shudders at the way his body curves into hers, knowing that industrious intensity firsthand - but she’s always a step ahead. A tug in his hair here and there to keep him apace. Hair _ everywhere _– it spills all around them, long and shining, astray in the moonlight. When Zuko slinks down to kiss her arching neck, Katara gasps in a way that Aang knows in the deepest, thoughtless parts of his brain has nothing to do with the performance. She gathers herself and looks right into him with too-bright eyes, a possessive hand clasped over the back of Zuko's head. 

Aang's head reels. He swallows thickly, spine twisting against the pillar, and assesses his painfully uncomfortable predicament. He's going to have to find a way to escape their clutches soon. 


	7. In Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara, Aang and Zuko make a stop on a lively island of plantbenders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short ficlet for an anon who asked for "accidently married in a local ritual." :)🌺

“The plum blossom symbolises hope and perseverance,” the Priestess explained, her wrinkled arms putting the garland around Zuko's neck. Zuko tried not to look quite so alarmed. “A harbinger for spring. Perfect for a graceful, strong leader such as yourself.” Now he ventured a small and familiar smile, affected and even embarrassed. 

Katara giggled, touching the garland resting on her own chest - she had picked out her own wreath of night jasmines, though for reasons she kept to herself. The locals had a different name for them when she asked, coral jasmines. That made sense considering the abundance of shore reefs that encircled this tiny island off the eastern Earth Kingdom coastline. Since her very first meeting with swamp benders during the war, Katara was always curious to find more plantbenders. Rather unlike the Foggy Swamp tribe, this particular tribe seemed to have a culture that revelled in the beauty of plant life – enough to keep a vibrant ecosystem of flora alive, far beyond what the season, soil and saline air should have allowed. Katara suspected there was some exceptional mix of healing and plant bending going on that was keeping this ecosystem going; she’d have to ask around more. 

Though their tribal lifestyles were reliant on the marine environment just as her own tribe was on the polar ice, every aspect of their culture was new and exciting – including their elaborate welcoming rituals. She was so glad Aang had pestered them to stop by here. 

Aang sidled up to sit next to her in the sand, looking with unbridled affection toward Zuko and then catching her eye with a smirk. Katara followed his gaze. “They suit you!” she called, earning a glare from Zuko and a chorus of laughter from the few children skittering around the sand. Katara’s eyes were drawn to Aang’s wreath – round, fatty yellow petals diffusing to white as they spread outwards. “Champa,” he said, eyes twinkling. “These used to grow on the Southern Air Temple, too. We used them for funerals, so I wasn't sure if it would be offensive, but Hana over there told me happily that here, they symbolise marriage.” He cocked his head. “That's definitely nicer, though I guess I don’t really know why that’s relevant.” 

Soon, they were drawn together by the Priestess and her attendants, who pushed the three of them to sit in a loose circle. Katara looked between Zuko and Aang with amusement, and then a dawning puzzlement as the Priestess instructed them to take off the wreaths they had just put on and stack their hands.

She took a long breath of salty air. Then, gathering each garland on her arm, she deftly swiped every flower clean off their stems. One attendant held the confetti of loose flowers suspended in the air with waterbending while another presented a sinewy vine to the Priestess. With stunning precision, the Priestess wound the flowers around the vine, her fingers moving fast to alternate between each. She had created, Katara realised belatedly, a gorgeous garland of three flowers. Creamy white petals of different shapes and sizes danced between each other, each dashed with a pleasing hint of colour: the blush of Zuko’s plum blossom – a _lot _like the blush on his face right now – the sunshine yellow of Aang’s champa, and the droopy jasmines with their central dot of the ripest orange. 

“Now,” began the Priestess. “Nothing makes the flowers bloom like a healthy union. When Avatar Aang and his cherished friends came to our little island this morning, I was delighted to welcome them. When our fellow water-daughter, Katara, spoke to me of their adventures and their unions, I was amazed. And when the Fire Lord Zuko bowed his greeting to me, presenting the seeds of his native fire lilies, I was touched.”

Katara beamed. It was nice when they all travelled together and this wasn’t the first time a local had brought it up. Something about seeing people so obviously of three different nations travelling together so casually seemed to strike the hearts of residents in the remotest places they visited. It was easy for her to forget, given how entwined her own heart was with the wider world – between her homeland, the United Republic, and Zuko’s palace. Watching her shining eyes, Katara wondered what the world had been like when the Priestess last ventured out. 

The Priestess continued, “So it is with the greatest pleasure I bestow upon them the greatest gift our tribe offers – the union of three spirits as one.” And with that, she hovered her arms above them and began winding the vine around their stacked hands with wide, looping gestures that remind Katara of the waves moving in and out on the horizon behind her. 

Katara’s hand, trapped between the others, sprung up a sudden sweat. Wasn’t this oddly like—? Zuko must have noticed the same thing, because he was redder than a fire lily, eyes widening as he took in the Priestess’ words– 

But a chorus of claps and shouts drowned Katara’s thoughts just as quickly. The Priestess raised their joint hands triumphantly into the air, and Katara, caught in the vibrancy of the moment, went with it. The Priestess released her remarkably powerful hold on the vines, and the flowers burst away from the vine and cascaded around them in a blur. Aang had joined in on the whooping, just as the children surrounded them, braiding a plum blossom into Katara’s hair here, a cluster of champas tucked behind Zuko’s hairpiece there. Two kids were resourcefully measuring up Aang’s head for the beginnings of a jasmine chain. 

She took their hands, took in their identical grins, and her heart swelled. 

“Now,” the Priestess said, reserving a sly wink for her. “Let's eat and then we'll get your marriage scroll printed.” 

Katara and Zuko gawked. Aang, it didn’t escape her notice, firmly avoided their eyes.


	8. Epiphany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...or ten times Zuko was jealous and one time he realised it. _
> 
> Written for Zutaraang Week 2020 on tumblr, day 1, prompt 'jealousy.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a 5 +1 drabble series fic but then it became a 10 + 1 fic. I thought it would be cool to set a drabble per year for the years between the end of canon and Heartlines, so they can be read that way. also they're exactly 100 words😎

_ 10\. _

Katara circled the room carefully, trying to get a good view of the painting, which was near impossible with the afternoon sunlight blaring from every angle of the glass-paned artists’ workshop. 

Finally, she gave up and _ grabbed _it by its tautened edges, setting it flat on the ground. Zuko smirked, wondering what his forefathers might have made of such casual disrespect of royal portraiture.

“The hairline–”

“–is a little high, I know.” _ And the scar’s too faint, _ he didn’t say.

She knelt over it, concentrating hard, running a careful thumb over the nose, the mouth, the chin. Zuko turned away.  
  
  


_9\. _

Aang’s fingers laxed and rose rhythmically over the translucent strings of the lute. Katara nestled against his shoulder, her eyes low and entranced observing Aang's playing. The night crept on. Zuko thought of Mai and of the last time they spoke; curt, though not final. Yet he had struggled to drudge up the passion that he had so many times before. 

Had she ever looked at him like that, the way Katara was looking at Aang? 

The melody quieted and plinked away into silence. Zuko found his eyes closing, and found odd relief in the darkness from Katara's mesmerised expression.

  
  
  
  


_ 8\. _

"That's amazing! Here in town? I _ should _check out libraries more...”

Aang's eyes widened as his conversation partner, a rather obstinate Earth Kingdom councilman, eagerly shared evidence of his Air Nomad architectural knowledge. They’d been at this for a good five minutes. 

Zuko wasn’t sure who was charming who – what was certain was that they'd win him over by evening.

The more meetings ticked by, the more he wished he had half of Aang's easy charm. He couldn’t be blamed for the scorching heat in his fists when the young man leant over to admire Aang's “_ rare _ , _ regional” _ kaftan. 

  
  
  
  


_7\. _

In the courtyard of the Jasmine Dragon, Aang and Katara had progressed from flirtily eyeing each other over their tea to a giggling embrace. 

Zuko frowned. “Don’t you ever wish they’d…?”

“–get a room?” Toph supplied. 

“Yeah.” 

“Eh. They aren’t much worse than Sokka and Suki – no matter what _ he _says.” She crossed her legs on the table. “Let kids have their fun.”

“You sound like Uncle.”

“Well I happen to love the old man, so that’s a compliment.” 

Zuko made a point of not watching them after that. If it didn’t quite stick, Toph wouldn’t know any better. 

  
  
  
  


_ 6\. _

Zuko yawned, followed quickly by an exasperated sigh. Tell-tale reddish hair was strewn over his desk, his papers and quills scattered everywhere. Fire ferrets had gotten into the apartment _ again. _ The _ last _thing he wanted to deal with after a long day indulging the severe faces of the Cranefish Town Business Council. 

He strode irritably to Aang’s room to ask him to earthbend shut their ground-level window once and for all–

Aang was distracted, halfway undressed. His tired eyes shone with delight; he stroked a chirping ferret in his lap. Zuko bit his tongue. Ferrets were not his friends today. 

  
  
  
  


_ 5\. _

They hadn’t taken a single step into the hut when a flurry of orange greeted them. Zuko’s tenuous heating abilities and Katara’s bending had been the only thing narrowly preventing them from being swallowed by the blizzard raging outside. 

Disoriented, Zuko stepped back at the force of the wind that nearly threw Katara into Aang’s arms. 

“I’m okay,” Katara said, though Zuko had seen the fear in her eyes. “We’re okay, Aang.” 

Aang lifted his head out of the fur of her parka. Zuko wheezed, feeling awkward amongst strangers.

Aang watched Zuko with distressed eyes and only gripped Katara harder. 

  
  
  
  


_ 4\. _

“–and nobody got a word in edgewise. _ All _he talked about was you.” 

“Stop it.” Katara rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were aglow, eyes sparkling. 

Ty Lee laughed. The palace guard’s helmet lay under one hand as she rested the other on Katara’s, a squeeze to take the bite out of her teasing. 

Zuko chuckled along, though hardly paying attention as she recounted their run-in with Aang in Republic City. Katara was a captivating ambassador and caring friend the past few months. He realised, dismayed, that he never saw her like _ this _ – grinning like a girl in love. 

  
  
  
  


_ 3\. _

It was early enough that the greyish sunlight only touched the horizon. Everything else was shrouded in darkness, including Aang and Katara and their tangled limbs, coiled cosily in Zuko’s tent, guarded by the warmth of Zuko’s fire. Both were asleep, though Aang wouldn’t be for much longer. 

Really, Zuko should have woken him. They should already be doing breathing exercises. 

He dressed quickly, sparing only glances. He liked that they never brought their own gear when travelling around the Fire Nation. His gaze lingered on the blue of her necklace and his tattoos, where his own blanket caressed them. 

  
  
  
  


_ 2\. _

The first thing he felt was her hair. Its sea spray smell and windswept waves, and then her hands, their touch strong yet soft around his neck, free of all collars, casings and clothing. After that was her mouth; a sweet, thick whisper in his ear, lips on the cords of his throat. 

Finally, there were her eyes. They watched without reservation. 

In them was a disposition – a devotion – reserved for one person only. 

His stomach lurched suddenly. He looked down at his hands, stared at the arrows, wretchedly familiar and alarmingly foreign. 

Zuko awoke, parched, heart thundering. 

  
  
  
  


_1._

He lifted his face from his hands. The seared remains of the flamerose bush hissed pitifully. 

He was supposed to be walking in the garden to cool down, not the opposite. The ministers were whispering again now it was time to review their reparation policy._ Water Lord. _ And as usual, _ The Avatar’s Fire Lord _. 

Topping it all off was the news of Aang and Katara’s engagement, in every paper, in the mouths of every palacegoer. _ Their _ fortune never faltered. 

Instantly the guilt rose – as if the plant had ever done anything to him. As if Aang or Katara had. 

  
  
  


** _0\. _ **

  
  


Zuko closed his eyes, letting the salty breeze of Yue Bay wash over him. The chatter outside had mostly died, though Chief Hakoda’s voice drifted from the patio below. Soon, he would meet his friends, this time with no interruptions from wedding guests. 

For now, he was alone with his thoughts. 

His only thought. 

Aang and Katara. Their giddy smiles at the marquee table, their shimmering shared glances up on that dais. 

Zuko dug his palms into his eyes, hard. It wasn’t an epiphany so much as a wake-up call. 

He was interrupted, mercifully, by a knock on the door. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the nicknames in the penultimate drabble were inspired by _Something Past and Whole_ by Philosopher_King


End file.
